Medley of Melee: A Rock Opera for Routing Marauders
by Quillon42
Summary: Reuploading this one; posted it originally in February of 2015. A quite colorful Morlock who was the first victim of the 1980s Mutant Massacre has her way in this reality with her would-be murderers, here set to The Who's most famous rock opera. (Will only be reuploading a few things in the next few days and that is it for reposts; I apologize for spams whatever.)
1. Chapter 1

MEDLEY OF MELEE: A ROCK OPERA FOR ROUTING MARAUDERS

By Quillon42

SOMETIME IN 1986 IN NEW YORK STATE

All crumpled up on the ground was what appeared to be the coarsening corpse of one young, weird woman who appeared to most as a personable, psychedelic piece of paper.

Now, again, she seemed to be trashed, as those mutant-murderers known as the Marauders stood smugly over the lost figure of looseleafed ligaments. The prime suspect preened with his sharp electrified spear, while another reloaded another magazine into his rifle, ready for more prey to pursue.

It was just as the latter's lady, herself quite the shocker with her own seismic abilities, had quipped about the quickness of the kill just now…

…that another, even more feminine inflection began to waft through the underground air…

…causing all the killers to about-face at the sound simmering up from behind them, from back at the gossamer body they just abandoned.

 _…See me…_

 _…Feeeeeelll me…_

 _…Touch me…_

 _…Heeeeeaaalll meeeee…_

 _…See me…_

 _…Feeeeeelll me…_

 _…Touch me…_

 _…Heeeeeaaalll meeeee…_

Michael Baer, that burly, bawdy Blockbuster who was bringing up the crowd's rear, was now taking point as the group reversed itself. The brutal giant galumphed over, his massive form bending as he peered down at the paper maiden, her once-frightened features now peeling into the most pernicious of grins as the mouth continued to issue forth the anthem.

 _…SEE ME…_

And of a sudden, all was black in that tunnel.

 _…FEEEEEELLL ME…_

Wisps of what felt like droves of delicate paper assailed the assassins from all sides, the deluge harrying them more than hurting…but doing the trick of unsettling them most effectively.

 _…TOUCH ME…_

Then, in another instant, the paper projectiles all about

[SHHHNNNNNTTTTT]

locking together, forming screen walls like those seen in traditional Japanese homes…

…only these serving to arrest the inhabitants rather than adorn the environs, the material now menacing and standing stronger than adamantium against these monstrous maniacs.

And the voice completed its chorus, all the more chillingly to finish.

 _…HEEEEEAAALLL MEEEEE…_

Within the mincing of instants, then, it dawned upon the diabolical doing-inners that they might have just gone from Marauders to Marauded.

Each of the papier-mache prison cells now contained one or two of these trackers of the genetically talented…each sheeted cell a chance for one would-be Morlock victim to avenge herself in as inventive a way as possible against those mothers who would have massacred her.

That same burly Baer from before, he was the first of the fray whom the merciless Morlock chose to torment. The bulky badly bustled around his own flush of fibers, nary a hand nor a foot able to make the steadfast sheafs around him start.

 _[DUM, DUM, D-DA-DA DUM, D-DA-DA-DUM, DUM, DUM…]_

 _[DUM, DUM, D-DA-DA DUM, D-DA-DA-DUM, DUM, DUM…]_

 _Crapton Baer didn't come home,_

 _His uncouth chums will nevermore knooow him,_

 _[DUM, DUM, D-DA-DA DUM, D-DA-DA-DUM, DUM, DUM…]_

The effing elephantine circus animal of an enforcer that was Blockbuster was utterly bewildered by the notes nettling at him from all around, sounds that he could not slug away with the fiercest of fists.

 _Believe him missing with a number of slimes,_

 _Don't expect to see him another tiiime._

 _[DUM, DUM, D-DA-DA DUM, D-DA-DA-DUM, DUM, DUM…]_

Flustered with the strains sounding all around him, the bully decided to try and bull his way through in the most brutish manner.

"RRRRRRRRRRGGGHHHHHH…"

Charging full force, the sierra of a slugger shot forward, his entire mass making to crush through the paper palisade before him…

[SLAMMMMMM]

…only for the same surface to slap back against him, shunting him backward as if the material were vibranium from the Vault.

And above the mussed man's head, as he saw stars that Dazzler could dish out in actuality, another songstress, from not too far away…

 _It's a Boor, Mister Sin'ster, it's a Boor (not a Baer…)_

 _It's a Bore, Mister Sin'ster, it's a Bore (not a Baaaeerrrrr…)_

 _He's done…_

As the eyelids of a surmounted Michael draped down upon the dilated pupils of the most massive of Marauders…

 _HE'S DONE…_

Then finally into oblivion as the oversized oaf los consciousness.

 _HE'S DONE…!_

In this way the Blockbuster in this crummy corner of the Morlock sewers closed down most unceremoniously.

…

It was Scrambler whom the lady chose next at random. Kim Sung was indeed a Kim Jong (Il or Un, take your pick) when it came to mutant ruthlessness. (And this author prays that he not be hacked, doxed, or otherwise for that reference just now). The snappily-dressed assassin always looked more decked out for meat-market nightclub playa action than a mission involving predation…it was all just a way of disarming the mark, to make his target unassuming as his actual abilities and intentions…until it was far, pitifully far too late.

But now the warfaring weasel wound around his tiny, tight paper prison, he almost out of his mind with no one in sight upon whose head he could place his pandemonious palm, no minds he could manipulate and mutilate ever so manually.

 _[Daa, daaaaa…]_

 _[Daa, DAAAA…]_

 _[Daa, Daaaaa…]_

 _[Daa, Daaaaa…]_

 _[Daa, daaaaa…]_

 _[Daa, DAAAA…]_

 _[Daa, Daaaaa…]_

 _[Daa, Daaaaa…]_

The infiltrating intonation of this strange, sudden melody had now made Kim ever kookier. He didn't know it, but as with a similarly sewer-trapped ermine-hued mistress, who in another story of this author's was going most unladylike gaga in her own gutter gulag at the bawling chorus of Bieber…here too Scrambs was in his own personal Hell.

Especially considering the clamping cardboard hand which closed upon the sucka's own skullcap a second later.

 _Deaf dumb and doped douche,_

 _His brain's in a hellish commotionland,_

 _Strange as it seems, his mutes-slaughter dreams,_

 _Ain't quite so bad._

This last phrase quite sarcastic, coming from the paper maiden, as she pondered for a fleeting second turning the tide of homicide against this Korean killer…just as she gave him a taste of his own scrambling medicine a second ago.

Then the multicolored mistress nixed the notion, she figuring it would be more fun to traumatize the man than take him out of the game entirely.

So, reaching the chorus instead of carnage, the same lady, screwing up the Scramb even more with every beat of her hand upon his brain:

 _Sickness will surely take the mind,_

 _Where minds can't usually go,_

 _Come on the uncanny journey,_

 _Unlearn all you've so known._

Then rubbing her hands upon his scalp, causing a dandruff of dementia to kick up within the man:

 _A sheer rage of delirium_

 _Seeps through his mind,_

 _Dying brain cells all so rob his wits blind,_

 _Let my colors be your leaders, just go and let them be your guides,_

 _On the uncanny journey, your brain will fully FRY…_

Waveringly the musical accompaniment of Piper and Beautiful Dreamer faded as did the consciousness of Kim Il Sung a moment following.

TO BE CONTINUED


	2. Chapter 2

MEDLEY OF MELEE: A ROCK OPERA FOR ROUTING MARAUDERS

By Quillon42

CHAPTER TWO

Through the flimsy yet firm fortifications all around her, the tremoring, Marauding murderess known as Arclight could still feel the vibrations of her shameless soulmate, as the latter worked here and there to blast his way out of his own recyclable cell. Try as the man might, though, Arc's love Scalphunter wasn't scoring any more points in the endeavor.

Hovering amidst all of this, the killers' captor considered going after that purple-haired peperpetratress of earthquakes…and for certain, said 'light would be extinguished, at least diminished, before this darkness yielded to dawn.

…But the would-be Massacre victim just couldn't wait to get to a certain, special someone, and test the tangible limits of her imprisoning abilities.

A few units of uniform torment down, a certain spiritling did all she could to shimmy her way through the slight yet sheerly impenetrable paper barriers surrounding her. The entity railed with abject rage at her failure to fly from here. She was incorporeal, damn it; nothing like this could contain her! Nothing could…possess her, like this!

It was supposed to be the case…that _she_ was the one to possess others.

[DUM, DUM, DUMMM…DUM-DUM, DUM, DUMMM…]

But now, invasively, the paper chase started up once again…

[DUM, DUM, DUMMM…DUM-DUM, DUM, DUMMM…]

As the Marauder known as Malice would begin the taste the medicine of becoming the medium for another being within her.

The spirit felt stiff a bit…

…then, upon seizing up, inexplicably and entirely…

 _I'm your minxy Auntie Morlie…_

 _…I'm glad you can't see or hear me!_

 _As I fiddle ahhbout, fiddle ahhbout, fiddle-about!_

Malice shot northward toward the seemly insubstantial ceiling, then down again to the floor, in a vain attempt to try and shake the intangible influence over her.

No dice.

 _You've gone and trapped yourself here, mind you,_

 _Now I'm doing what I WANT to…_

 _As I fiddle ahhbout, fiddle ahhbout, fiddle-about!_

It was then that the Malice was herself for once molested, the imageless incubus smothered, felt herself occupied utterly, for the first time in her own menacing, overly possessive existence.

 _Down with the coll-ars_

 _Up with the col-ors…_

 _Fiddle ahhbout, fiddle ahhbout, fiddle-about!_

Indeed, the days of taking over others in the form of a choker were now to be far behind Malice, as the tie-dye treatment of the one taking over her own soul would torture that tendency out of the Marauder.

While the spirit shot all around her cell, she going completely insane at the ideas of her ineffectiveness in escaping, as well as her own subjection to possession…

 _You won't slip out, as I fiddle ahhbout,_

 _Fiddle ahhbout, fiddle ahhbout, fiddle-about!_

 _Fiddle ahhbout, fiddle ahhbout, fiddle-about!_

 _Fiddle ahhbout, fiddle ahhbout, fiddle-about!_

 _Fiddle, fiddle…_

 _Fiddle, fiddle…_

…in the midst of all of said fiddling

 _Fiddle, fiddle…_

 _Fiddle, fiddle…_

the very essence, the very measure of Malice itself becoming whittled down to even less than the spirit that it started out as.

 _Fiddle, fiddle…_

 _Fiddle, fiddle…_

 _Fiddle, fiddle…_

 _Fiddle, fiddle…_

 _FIDDLE!_

All until the smarmy Morlock had no phantom left to play with at all.

…

…

For John Greycrow, better known to many of his downed targets as Scalphunter…all this pernicious paper weighing down on his world could not hold the man back from looking upon the lavender-tressed lady he had loved. Indeed, he knew now that Philippa Sontag—who ordinarily misadventured under the moniker Arclight, and who with her seismic skills could cause these conduits to quake like no other—Greycrow knew that the one who won his heart was just as tough as he, and that she could break through all these firm fibers to join his side.

"Come on," he told that titaness of tectonic trouble, once she emerged through the papery partition between them, "we'll pool our power to break through and free the others."

Really, the couple looked so potent as they padded off, they with their draping mullets of orchid and onyx—

-and no subject of this stationery stockade was affected by this sight more than the prisoner who verily went by the name Philippa, and who was now scandalized at seeing the papier-mache duplicate of herself traipsing off with the man who made her existence sufferable.

As it was, the only company upon which the amethyst assassin was visited…well, we've already seen this versicolor vixen strike thrice…and the fourth time was no less terrifying.

 _Do you think it's Arc-liiight,_

 _Who left the nook with Uncle Johhhhhnny,_

This as the sheaves surrounding Philippa's kneecaps came shunting together, entrapping the earthquakeress all the more.

 _Do you think it's Arc-liiight,_

 _That dunderheaded Hunnnnn-ter's not too bright!_

 _Do you think it's Arclight,_

 _Do you think it's Arclight,_

 _No, I think it's not quite…_

By the close of this carping chorus, Miss Sontag was up to her pupils in the punitive parchment, she of earthshattering aptitude ironically so swallowed up and ground down.

Without missing a beat now, the Morlock with momentum once more—again with Piper and the Dreamer backing her up while she set her sights upon a certain, untameable target:

 _Do you think it's alriiiiight,_

 _To leave the 'lock with Cretin Viiiiicious,_

 _Do you think it's alriiiiight,_

 _There's something 'bout this I just real-ly like!_

 _Do you think it's alright,_

 _Do you think it's alright,_

 _Yes I think it's allriiight…_

A multitude of minutes was at present eaten away by frustratingly futile efforts on the part of said Vicious Cretin, that Victor Creed, to cut a swath viciously through the vellum all around. As with the others in his ensemble, the savvy slaughterer was used to being a pursuer and not a prisoner, a trapper and not a captive. This experience was something unheralded for him, and which fueled his fervor for violence all the more.

However, as much as the mutant mauled at the material all around him, the flimsy, papery gunk just would not give.

But those needling, unnerving notes—

 _[Do-DO-Do-DO-Do-DO-Do-DO-do-DO-do-DO-do-DO-do-DO]_

 _[Do-DO-Do-DO-Do-DO-Do-DO-do-DO-do-DO-do-DO-do-DO]_

not those uttered by a pen, but rather those issued from a piano—they did anything but soothe the savage breast of Sabretooth, who by now could not slash back the roaring ream that consumed him from all sides, and which was now funneling in sewage from the dankest drain in the entire underground.

 _[Do-DO-Do-DO-Do-DO-Do-DO-do-DO-do-DO-do-DO-do-DO]_

 _[Do-DO-Do-DO-Do-DO-Do-DO-do-DO-do-DO-do-DO-do-DO]_

 _We're on our owwwwwn, Cretin,_

 _All allooonnne, Cretin!_

 _Let's think of a game to play,_

 _Now your goon-friends have all…gone away!_

 _You won't be much fun,_

 _Being bound up in dung,_

 _But I've no one, to play with, today!_

Just then the pied poltergeist breezed in front of the man, she getting up in Victor's grill in full and, freaking out in myriad hues, humbling the vermin dastard with visual darkness:

 _Do you know how to play blind man's bluff?_

 _To find me would be ordeal enough,_

 _But being stuffed up with stool makes you all more the fool,_

 _There's a lot I can sling, in a SLOUGH!_

Surrounding the twosome now, the cell's borders bucking abruptly as the bottom suddenly seceded and deposited the hapless Sabretooth into the depths of the most unsanitary insanity of the sewer…

 _HOW would you feel if I o-pened the sluice,_

 _Filled up your sys-tem with septic-type juice,_

 _WHAT would you do if I pushed your head down,_

 _To in-hale the sleaze so you'd seize up and DROWWW…oww-oww-oww…oww-oww-OWWWWWNNN?!_

 _I'm the SEWWWWWWER bully!_

 _The CESSSSS-POOOOOLLL cheat!_

 _The NASSSTIIEST prey-fiend,_

 _You EVVV-ER could meet!_

 _I'll make CUUUUUTTTS of pa-per,_

 _That CLAWWW you to MEAT!_

Glaring down upon the godforsaken gack that now served as a gaol for the cruel Creed, the mental Morlock stared and sang on with a tinge of pity, she seeing someone not so much up the river as down the drain:

 _We're on our owwwwwn, Cretin,_

 _All allooonnne, Cretin!_

 _Let's think of a game to play,_

 _Now your goon-friends have all…gone away!_

 _You won't be much fun,_

 _Being bound up in dung,_

 _But I've no one, to play with, today!_

TO BE CONTINUED


	3. Chapter 3

MEDLEY OF MELEE: A ROCK OPERA FOR ROUTING MARAUDERS

By Quillon42

CHAPTER THREE

Amidst all the onrush of shit and other free-flowing fluids, the sentient detritus itself that was the remainder of the Marauders had found themselves jettisoned each from his or her own cells—each's containment becoming untenable in its soggy oversaturation running off from what befell the bungling botch-up that Sabretooth was this night.

In the wake of this literal fallout, one would think that the harried, heartless hunters would be safe now, or at least able to abscond away from the stalking songstress who sought to bring each of them down, for what they did to her initially.

The final and most fateful act, however, was just setting itself into its macabre motion.

Woozily whizzed along the coconut-and-passion-fruit-fleshed putz known as Riptide. He'd always prided himself on spinning a few steps on ahead of his team, he had thought as he gyrated along most gainfully. Always worked so hard especially to impress that other dappled danger, that ivory/emerald swirl of a girl named Vertigo. Someday, to be sure, they would mesh together and make jade/grape juniors that would do them proud.

Rip snorted, forcing himself back into the present moment as he rapidly rotated his way into a small concrete causeway. Perhaps he could reach the surface faster than the others, then report to his base bastard of a boss and bring back reinforcements before…

[SHHCACCKKK]

Of a sudden the tenebrous tunnel was deprived of the dim lights that illuminated the way, causing a jaunting Janos Quested to quaver most gracelessly all the way down to the ground.

 _[JING JING JING JING JING JING JING JING]_

 _[JING JING] [BEAT, BE-BEAT BEAT]_

In the twinkling of a trice, that same female of dappled fibers came dancing on in, upon the thin tootsies that toted along her vindictive figure, her own gyres galvanizing Janos to jump up once more—until he realized that what must have been the thinnest of cords were holding him down.

 _[JING JING] [BEAT, BE-BEAT BEAT]_

 _[JING JING] [BEAT, BE-BEAT BEAT]_

 _You think about your whirly-girly woman_

 _You should change your mind_

 _[JING JING] [BEAT, BE-BEAT BEAT]_

 _[JING JING] [BEAT, BE-BEAT BEAT]_

Then twirling and traipsing was this huntress among the hunted, her thin two-dimensional self of a sudden seeming to take on a third, thicker angle as she instantly extended out to a voluptuousness for even Vertigo to turn ever greener.

And moored down by Morlock hairs as the man was, there was no occasion to eddy on away from this predicament as per usual.

 _Yeahhh, you think about your whirly-girly woman_

 _You should change your mind_

 _[JING JING] [BEAT, BE-BEAT BEAT]_

 _[JING JING] [BEAT, BE-BEAT BEAT]_

Hovering now over the mauvest Marauder, the horny yet still hostile huntress…

 _'Cause when I commence to CRUMPLIN'_

 _I bring…insight to the GRIIIND…_

It was then, in this instance alone, that paper beat razors, as the willowing waif wrapped herself around the Rip, he becoming aroused at the warmth from all around, yet still terrified at that form with which the she-sheaf was smothering him, grinding him through a mill of maltreatment.

 _[JING JING] [BEAT, BE-BEAT BEAT]_

 _I've got the power to heal you, I'll cut you in,_

 _[JING JING] [BEAT, BE-BEAT BEAT]_

 _[JING JING] [BEAT, BE-BEAT BEAT]_

 _Yeahhh, I've got the power to heal you, I'll cut you in,_

 _[JING JING] [BEAT, BE-BEAT BEAT]_

 _[JING JING] [BEAT, BE-BEAT BEAT]_

Then all the more snugly, the paper ragamuffin fully recycling Riptide by this point:

 _Just a page from my pocket_

 _And the…TOP-WILL-STOP, ITS SPIIINNNNNN…_

…

By the time the material maiden receded from the ruffian, the man had indeed gone from topspin to tailspin as he writhed weakly upon the sewer floor.

Satisfied, the sassy scamp strode off towards her next victim—the aforementioned crème de menthe vixen upon whom the Morlock vagabond also made designs to vamp.

…

…

Even in an underground such as this, with the greenish garnish of moss and slime all around, Vertigo nonetheless felt out of place. She felt reviled at the advances of that jobber Janos; in regards to him, the only desire she felt was to someday simulate in her psyche his sinuous twisting abilities. Verts could make the whole world spin dizzy silly—but she always stood still, and even envied her victims at times. Just to be able to let go from all this, to whisk away from the world and its equilibrious ennui…

 _[DUMMMMM…]_

 _[DUMMMMMMMMM…]_

 _[DUMMM…]_

 _[DUMMM…]_

 _[DUMMMMMMMMMMMMMM…]_

As it would turn out, there would be quite the quivering to come upon the comely lass yet. The viridian Vertigo might have been a shapely pear, but the motley maiden visiting upon her now was the kinkiest of kiwifruits.

 _If your world ain't what it should be now,_

 _This girl, will put it right…_

Verily, the verdant vavavoom of the Marauders might have been a dream of creamed spinach…

 _I'll show you what you could be now,_

…but the multicolored mofoette in motion was an effing Caesar Salad of insanity.

 _Just give me ONE NIIIIIIIIIIGHHHHHTTTTT…_

 _I'm the Squib, SEE?_

 _The Jetsam Queen,_

 _You'll PAY before we're dohonne,_

Of a sudden a system of sickening hues hushed all over that sexiest of Savage Land Mutates that was Vertigo—a rainbow of retch that set the young woman to wither ironically into a whirlpool of nausea.

 _IIIII'm the Squib, SEE?_

 _You're guaranteed,_

 _To PURGE, to lose, your luuuuunnnccchhhhh…_

As with the Marauder Malice, who had visited upon her the very invasive means by which she brought down victims…so too did the verduous Vertigo now suffer that same karma of modus operandi—for her, that intestinal inversion that she foisted upon foes of her own dysfunctional family.

Verily the virago could now be known as Vomito as hurl hitched up in her slender throat…all while the multicolored strobe of the Morlock upon her intensified more and more keenly.

Indeed that multihued Morlock, the vivid victuals-turned-vicious victimizer was a Squib in both senses, in that she was a piece of living paper but also a (non-Katy-Perryan) firework…she was Jetsam under the dual definition, in that she was the discarded detritus of society, and also a waif…but one with wondrous talents, not fully realized until now.

And all the while she stood there, said Morlock hovering handily over the disheveled emerald deadliness, the paper predator looming above, looking down, menacing motley mugging with frightening Tina-Turner-twitching lips and sheening, seething teeth as she set into another verse, mercilessly.

 _Give us a basin and bolt up the gate,_

 _Leave, us for, a while,_

 _Your siren will not be so, no more,_

 _A child, but not, so WIIIIILLLLLDDDDD…_

 _III-haamm the Squib, SEE?_

 _The Jetsam Queen,_

 _You'll PAY before we're dohonne…_

And on and on.

…

So by this juncture the jaunting Jetsam was on quite a roll in routing her incapable executioners…as such, she took the next one on all the more aggressively.

The poor speck of spectrum known as Prism couldn't even put up a fight as Madamoiselle Morlock now made herself known all around him, she giftwrapping herself all about the enemy before he could even give a cry of protest.

Yet all the while the waif could still stand across the sewer from the kaleidoscopic kook, she tossing her hair and thrashing in place restlessly otherwise for several seconds, not unlike a maniacal psychotic Seventies Ann-Margret exasperated with her onscreen son.

[BAA BAA BAA [BA-BA-BA-BA-BA-BA, BA-BA]]

[BAA BAA BAA [BA-BA-BA-BA-BA-BA, BA-BA]]

She then thrust herself forward, coming upon the Prism and whisking her omnihued wisps of hair across his face again and again

[PSSSH! PSSSH! PSSSH!]

[PSSSH! PSSSH! PSSSH!]

as she otherwise set into yet another verse of vindictiveness.

 _You never last, more than two shakes,_

 _Before someone strikes and they BREAK youuu…_

 _You don't seem to care, you always come back,_

 _How does your maker reFRAME youuu…_

Presciently the Morlock knew of this somehow—the way Prism was pummeled to pieces in so many fights, like a polychromatic Kenny McCormick, only to reemerge glass-all-full the next occasion, courtesy of some…Sinister presence.

Nevertheless with furious feverishness the fibrous femme set upon him again, she twisting all around the mirrored man all the more tightly.

 _If you're the Rubik's, then I am the Slink,_

 _Can you feel my clemen-cy shrink,_

 _Shrink…_

 _Shrink…_

 _Shrink…_

 _SHRINK…_

 _SHRINK…_

 _SHRINK…_

* _SHRINK*…_

 _**SHRINK**…_

 _***SHRINK***…_

 _****SHRINK****…_

 _*****SHRINK*****…_

 _*****SHRIIIIINNNNNKKKKK!*****_

 _[BEAT, BE-BEAT-BEAT, BE-BEAT, BEAT]_

(Now, grabbing at the glass maguffin all the more, the Morlock, with utter urgency yet also smarmy sardonics…)

 _Do you crack, refract, or_

 _Do I smash, th'M'rauderrrrr,_

All the more intimately, insidiously:

 _Do you crack, refract, or_

 _DO I SMASH, TH'M'RAUDERRRRR?!_

Then with a tighter squeeze she ever shivered upon her shady significant other from the Hellfire Club:

 _[SHKRAAASSSHHHHH!]_

and Prism was put out to that same personal pawnshop-purgatory into which he was always placed…all until his scheming sallow scientist of a creator to get around to resetting his shards again later on.

In that same chamber, the murderously merry Morlock in question cheered at tying on another takedown…

…but she knew she still wasn't safe.

Not quite yet. There were still a few more ferociously feral fools she had to write off, one by one as had been her methodology all along…and she saved the best editions of her slaughter rag for last.

TO BE CONTINUED


	4. Chapter 4

MEDLEY OF MELEE: A ROCK OPERA FOR ROUTING MARAUDERS

By Quillon42

CHAPTER FOUR

The absolute dregs of the deathsquad were dragged down to the bottom of the basin where they belonged. Among the remainder, an Inuit inundated with unease struck out blindly with that same shocking Scorpion-spear which brought down, for only oh so many instants, the technicolor terminatrix who was winding his way just now.

This time, though…it would be Morlock maiden who would be the predator, and the Eskimo enemy himself who would be the perforated.

All the while, as Kodiak Noatak sharpened the Harpoon after which he was codenamed…that same persevering papery purveyor was ready to pounce.

 _[JING…]_

 _[JING…]_

 _[JING…]_

 _[JING…]_

…

 _[Jingjingjingjingjingjingjingjingjingjing]_

 _[JINGAJINGAJINGAJINGJING, JINGAJINGAJINGAJINGJING]_

 _[JINGAJINGAJINGAJINGJING, JINGAJINGAJINGAJINGJING]_

 _[DA-NAAAAAAAAA!]_

 _[JINGAJINGAJINGAJINGJING, JINGAJINGAJINGAJINGJING]_

 _[DA-NAAAAAAAAA!]_

Now converging upon the crummy caveman of a Marauder was the Morlock, she confident with her captures heretofore to fall upon one of her primary marks now:

 _Ever since I was a looseleaf,_

 _I played men page by page,_

 _In notebooks and in binders,_

 _No matter what the ahhhaaage,_

 _But I never seen a virgin,_

 _Quite like this igloo hog…_

 _That impotent icecube,_

 _SURE PLAYS A WHIPPED 'POON-DOG!_

All the while the wafer-thin woman whapping away at the warrior with two-dimensional limbs that lashed out again and again…

 _[DA-NAA, NAA, NAA, NAA-NAA…]_

 _[DA-NAA, NAA, NAA, NAA-NAA…]_

 _He's a 'Poon-Whipped Loser_

 _Let's give him 'nother twist,_

' _Poon-Whipped Loser's_

 _Got such an ach-ing wriiist,_

With this the whirling paper-waif flicked out a small fist, she shaking it up and down in a most masturbatory manner as she kept flowing around her foe.

In the background, Ape and Dreamer and Piper as a symphonious peanut gallery in parentheses, while the main Morlockette took the lead as usual:

 _(How do ya think he "does it"?)_

 _HE DOESSSNN'T!_

 _(What makes him sooooo limp?)_

The music moved along as an instant following the frau of fibers grabbed Kodiak up by the kisser and funneled him through herself, she hurling him like one his 'poons, pounding him hard against the cesspool concrete.

And before the brute could summon up his strength again,

 _He cringes like a clubbed seal,_

 _The mush of the Machine,_

 _He's feeling for a way out,_

 _But just can't 'scape the scene,_

 _He's paler than a penguin,_

 _Lost out in the fohhhog,_

 _That impotent icecube,_

 _SURE PLAYS A WHIPPED POON-DOG!_

 _[DA-NAA, NAA, NAA, NAA-NAA…]_

 _[DA-NAA, NAA, NAA, NAA-NAA…]_

It was just as Noatak finally flung out one of his signature zingers that the babe barreled forward, she a cylindrical whirl of a girl as the 'poon passed cleanly through the circular void within her and she herself flew ahead, her publishable personhood punching into the forehead of the hapless Harpoon and hunkering him to the ground.

Dancing wackily now, she dapper in her dapple over the defeated asswipe of the Arctic:

 _I thought I was the Alley-Coward Queen,_

 _But I just handed this POON-…DOG'S…ASS…TO…HIIIIIMMMMMM…_

Applause ensued from the eaves of the environs as the Morlock Mistress bowed, curtseyed…

…then cut away quickly, before anyone else could follow, to confront the one who might have murdered her before the next morning was ushered in.

Stolidly the scoundrel known as Scalphunter sharpened the focus on his scope. That juiced goofball otherwise known as John Greycrow, he wouldn't abide it, that doppelganger paperweight dupe that he bought for a moment to be his lady Arclight…he wouldn't forgive that girl of grist who wreaked that ruse upon him. Once she showed her sheets down here, he'd hole-punch her papyrus but good.

While the resourceful Marauder trained his sights for the pending target…a rather reedy, ready lady lay in wait just behind him.

 _[DA-DA-DA-DA-DA!]_

 _[HMM-HMM HMM-HMM HMM HMM-HMM]_

 _[DA-DA-DA-DA-DA!]_

 _[HMM-HMM HMM-HMM HMM HMM-HMM]_

Suddenly shunting a page most opaque upon the Hunter's peepers, the stealthy songstress, shouting into his all-open ears:

 _Welcome, down to the dumps_

 _I guess we all know why you're here,_

 _You wanna just dispose me?_

 _I'll bet you won't, I hope that's clear,_

 _If you want to rip into me,_

 _Just like that whipped poondog,_

 _Then you'll have to lose some face quite frankly,_

 _Be two-dimen-sional! [DA-DA-DA DAAA-DA!]_

Just as Johnny G whipped the paper off his face and spun with pistols primed…

Hissing, slithering up from the grates beneath him, the canny chorus:

 _But I'm not gonna take-it,_

 _[HMM-HMM HMM-HMM HMM HMM-HMM]_

 _I'm not gonna take-it,_

 _[HMM-HMM HMM-HMM HMM HMM-HMM]_

 _I'm not gonna take-it,_

 _[HMM-HMM HMM-HMM HMM HMM-HMM]_

 _I'm not gonna take-it,_

 _[HMM-HMM HMM-HMM HMM HMM-HMM]_

Then wending her way around one more wearied warrior, one more time, the interloping mutant indigent—carrying a chorus wealthy with vehemence:

 _I'm-not, gonna TAAHAAAKE-IT!_

 _Never did, and never will!_

 _I'm-not, gonna TAAHAAAKE-IT!..._

 _Gonna PASTE it,_

 _Gonna WASTE it,_

 _Let's just shred it better STILL…_

And punctuating said refrain with papery punches…that plunked the punk Hunter to the ground quite proper.

 _[DA-DA-DA-DA-DA!]_

 _[HMM-HMM HMM-HMM HMM HMM-HMM]_

 _[DA-DA-DA-DA-DA!]_

 _[HMM-HMM HMM-HMM HMM HMM-HMM]_

The Machiavellian Morlock now, with herself an utter cutout bordering the profile of the predating Scalper, she shutting down each of his senses in turn:

 _Now you can't hear me,_

 _Your ears are spiral-sealed_

 _You can't speak either,_

 _Your tabbed-down tongue's sans-spiel,_

 _You can't see nothing,_

 _Your peep-ers Trap-per-Kept,_

 _So you can't perceive your paper tiger,_

 _Who's savagely squared her debts!_

Now grabbing each of his guns with the most delicate doily digits, then dashing each to the dingy ground as she proceeded:

 _I'm not gonna take-it,_

 _[HMM-HMM HMM-HMM HMM HMM-HMM]_

 _I'm not gonna take-it,_

 _[HMM-HMM HMM-HMM HMM HMM-HMM]_

 _I'm not gonna take-it,_

 _[HMM-HMM HMM-HMM HMM HMM-HMM]_

 _I'm not gonna take-it,_

 _[HMM-HMM HMM-HMM HMM HMM-HMM]_

 _I'm-not, gonna TAAHAAAKE-IT!_

 _Never did, and never will!_

 _Won't take your oppressions,_

 _And as far as I-can-tell,_

 _We ain't gonna TAAHAKE you!_

 _Never did, and never will!_

 _We ain't gonna TAAHAKE you!_

 _We'll obliterate you,_

 _Triturate you,_

 _Let's transmute you…better…still…_

And once more, in the ensuing seconds, the masterful Morlock completely encapsulated her perditious prey…

…but then, this time, trash compacted it, broke down what was within her fibers…

…

…ejecting from herself a moment following

[SHHCASSSKKK]

what was less than a shadow of the Scalp—literally a two-dimensional cardboard outline of the assassin, complete with all his artillery and ammunition…but the would-be butcher of this girl now gouged and ground down to a Colorform in place of a killer.

And now, for the young lady, it was time as far as she was concerned, she now erupting essence in three dimensions from the drainpipe into which she collected herself for a flash:

 _[DANG-DANG DANG-DANG DANG-DANG-DANG…]_

 _[DANG-DANG DANG-DANG DANG-DANG-DANG!]_

 _[DANG-DANG DANG-DANG DANG-DANG-DANG…]_

 _[DANG-DANG DANG-DANG DANG!]_

 _I'm safe!_

 _[DANG-DANG-DANG, DANG-DANG DA…]_

 _IIIIIIIIII'MMM…SAAAFE!_

 _[DANG-DANG-DANG, DANG-DANG DANG-DANG…]_

 _And SAFETY…TASTES of AUTONOMY…_

Indeed, what this frail, flat femme found over the course of these harrowing hours…was that she could tap into a power within herself, and trounce those opposing her, all on her own. Not with the help of her covert subterranean clan…not with the assistance of any occult-club boyfriend…no, really…all on her own.

 _If I told you what it takes_

 _To sway the lowest swale,_

 _You laugh and say, "Nothing's that simple!"_

 _I've been told oft times before_

" _Marauders will come to your door…"_

 _But no one's had the guts to shield the cess-pool!_

 _I'm SAFE…_

…

The fact was, in actuality…there was one more terrorizing threat out there, in the trenches.

But this time, the gutter girl wasn't going to let anything creep up on her.

TO BE CONCLUDED


	5. Chapter 5

MEDLEY OF MELEE: A ROCK OPERA FOR ROUTING MARAUDERS

By Quillon42

CHAPTER FIVE

Slipping around slimily all about the sewer was the one who watched here—he not a slighty-chubby, Charlie-Brown-head in outer space under the name of Uatu, mind you—no, here, the one who watched was one who was far more insidious and…

Sinister.

Upon seeing all his creations crushed, his cloned concepts shredded resolutely by the mawkish Morlock who should have been so easy to take down, the guileful geneticist figured he'd just erred a tad here and there, just required a mote of modification in some such places…then the new mix of Marauders would be redoubtable, unrestrainable, insuperable.

This resolution required, of course, that the able albino escape effectively…via that same sewerway of which the stalking songstress was mistress.

As it was, the Mister in turn had made it to a certain sluice…only to feel something slice acutely through him…then into him, within him even.

 _What about the lout?_

 _…_

 _WHAT ABOOUUUTTT THE LOOOUUUUUUTTT…_

He could now feel this most chilling of choruses inside of him, a Walkman warbling from behind his brain…an Ipod pounding out a tempo at his temples.

 _WHAT ABOUT THE LOUT, HE SAW IT AHHAAALLL!_

Monsieur Mofo then tried, assayed to shut his eyes, his ears, his mouth on purpose, so that nothing more could get out…so that the gene-splicer could generate naught more…but the fop was already far, far too late.

As photocopied purls of the girl gushed out from each of the aforementioned orifices:

 _You didn't heeeaarrrrr-IT!_

 _You didn't see-it!_

 _You won't carry on nothin', to no clone, ever in your life!_

 _You never heard it, how ABSURD it seems, without any PROOF!_

Trailing entrails now from the evil figure was the looseleaf lady, she ribbon-wrapping again and again flourishes over the fool as she continued the damning descant:

 _You didn't heeeaarrrrr-IT!_

 _You didn't see-it!_

 _You never heard it, not a WORD of it,_

 _You won't carry on nothin', to no clone ever,_

 _Never tell no servile sewer scum what you KNOW is the TRUTH!_

Again and again as the Xeroxing X-Undergrounder exited and entered, exited and entered the eyeholes and other openings of the ancient arsenic-sick arse that was Sinister:

 _You didn't heeeaarrrrr-IT!_

 _You didn't see-it!_

 _You won't carry on nothin', to no clone, ever in your life!_

 _You never heard it, how ABSURD it seems, without any PROOF!_

 _You didn't heeeaarrrrr-IT!_

 _You didn't see-it!_

 _You never heard it, not a WORD of it,_

 _You won't carry on nothin', to no clone ever,_

 _Never tell no servile sewer scum what you KNOW is the TRUTH!_

By the time the Morlock had moved on from this trick, her tarnation-tethered target had been typewritten tons of times over with trounce. The girl glanced back to witness a warlock washed over and whited out with discomfiture, deluged with defeat in a cistern of catatonia.

Exhilarated to the exhausted, frayed ends of the femme's fragile self, the wily wretch leapt with her lithe, stationery-skinny soles into the air…

…then collapsed of a sudden, she not knowing the limits and other risks inherent in utilizing her newfound reserves. Now at the instant feeling rather feeble, the adrenalin abandoning her skin of newsprint, the copybook coquette crumbled down, down to the ground in a heaving heap.

 _…_

 _…SEE ME…_

 _…_

 _…FEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLL ME…_

 _…TOUCH ME…_

 _…_

 _…HEEEAAALLLLLL MEEEEE…_

 _…_

 _…SEE ME…_

 _…_

 _…FEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLL ME…_

 _…TOUCH ME…_

 _…_

 _…HEEEAAALLLLLL MEEEEE…_

 _…_

 _…_

 _…_

Then, as if she knew she were summoning that same Salmons of whom she first made acquaintance, back at that clandestine Club…the same to whom she made most frenzied, flimsy mash-note-mad love, later on…

…that same Richard, reaching seemingly from beyond, answered her impassioned invocations, calling her by name to join him at the juncture at which they last parted.

 _…_

 _[JING, JI-JING, JINNNG, JING]_

 _[JING, JI-JING, JINNNG, JING]_

 _Tommy, can you hear me?_

 _Can you feel me near you?_

 _Tommy, can you see me?_

 _Can I help to cheer you?_

 _Ooooohhh Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy…_

The next time around, it felt all the warmer, all the more warblingly wondrous to the woman who found substance, who found dimension in the daring relationship she ran out with that solid soldier Richard Salmons.

 _Tommy, can you hear me?_

 _Can you feel me near you?_

 _Tommy, can you see me?_

 _Can I help to cheer you?_

 _Ooooohhh Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy…_

It built and built within the babe, made her still, supine form vibrate, become ever more vibrant as she called out the closing chorus, she peeling off the baleful basement pavement that was the sewer's cement, the gal galvanized all the more by the prospect of pairing her paper person alongside that steady sentry once more.

Through it all, the Morlock known only as Tommy trundled triumphantly through the upper chambers of the cesspool, she ready to regain the surface once more to stand aside that man whom she knew was just as alive as she was in this very moment, her victory in these vaults somehow reviving him in turn…or at least enabling her to have the strength to wrench him back from the abyss into which his soul had stolen, if she would but reach for him now.

From thence the girl flew, she from her dingy origins to join up with that somewhat seedy soulmate…but their common, respective dirtiness made them a cuddly, relatable duo which no Marauder nor any other evil could ever sever.

 _[BUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUM]_

 _Listening to you,_

 _I feel the Hellfire,_

 _Gazing at you,_

 _I get the heat,_

 _Following you,_

 _I prime the sump pump,_

 _I get excitement at your feet._

 _Right beside you,_

 _I feel the tissue,_

 _On you,_

 _I see the sordid_

 _From you,_

 _I get the issues,_

 _From you,_

 _I get the torpiiiiiiiiiiiiiiid…_

 _[BUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUM]_

 _Listening to you,_

 _I feel the Hellfire,_

 _Gazing at you,_

 _I get the heat,_

 _Following you,_

 _I prime the sump pump,_

 _I get excitement at your feet._

 _Right beside you,_

 _I feel the tissue,_

 _On you,_

 _I see the sordid_

 _From you,_

 _I get the issues,_

 _From you,_

 _I get the torpiiiiiiiiiiiiiiid…_


End file.
